Mania
by Shiroi Iyasu
Summary: There are many types of love in the world. And her love - was one of chaos. (Follows True Ending; post-game.)


Watched a walkthrough of the game and I- I just can't believe the endings... Oh god, why did any of it have to end up like any of that?! I just- I feel sad, like shit, I am sad as hell just thinking about stuff.

So, expressive writing made of feels for everyone to read. Enjoy. I think.

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Somewhere, like a prominent and infectious echo - she laughed, taking in a deep breath of coppery air with a smile.

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Aya knew, when she ended the suffering of that little bluebird, that she was walking on a dangerous thread. If she threw away the dead body, forgetting this incident and never indulging in it ever again, then things would go back to normal - there was no need to go down that narrow pathway, to pass the Rubicon. But at the same time, at her delicate age, she was a curious child. And like all, she desired to satisfy her curiosity.

Around her home, dropping themselves like a curse of the sky and by the manic love of the earth, little birds and their scattered feathers came to dot the ground. At some point, she heard a neighbor call their mansion the reaper's birdcage - and that, the girl was unsure if she found funny, amusing or fearful. Her parents, nonetheless, shushed that man and covered her ears, as if her purity would remain and the words would disappear.

They didn't. They never would.

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Days to weeks to months. She was a careful child, hiding the bodies when it came to her realisation that people were normally displeased with the motionless dead. Borrowing kitchen knives, sewing needles and maybe bandages to bind her live experiments - she would take the time to find a safe, quiet place to practice her macabre enjoyment, often when her parents and Maria were busy or out.

She would cut up the animals - rats, birds, even stray cats and once a dog - with growing preciseness, examining their innards and, while initially grossed with the blood and gore she had come to witness, eventually learning their inside anatomy by heart. And once she was done looking under their skins, she would dispose of them in unlikely places, areas where one wouldn't normally or frequently check. And even when found, their skeletons would only be left, with rotting flesh hanging from the bones and always, no one realised their death and location had come about by a little girl.

With this love came secrets, lies, and moments where she was scarily close to being found out - but Aya continued on, all the same, unaware of her own cruelty, unaware of what her love really was.

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Months became seasons and then into years.

It had been a long time since her home burned to the ground. Memories of horror, and yet, memories of a loving family - they stayed, as promised and as stated. Now, it was just her and Maria, and together they lived in a homely cottage of a village, far away from the forested area where their mansion once stood. During this time, with the villagers' pity and their kindness, they began to build a new life, free from the past.

Or at least, Aya thought it would be like that. Could be like that. But it was not. Despite her silent promise to never go back to those horrible times, her dreams would constantly remind her, urges sometimes tickling her hand every time she laid upon a sickly animal on the roadside or, sometimes, even when looking at people with the prettiest of features...

And truly, it scared her. It scared her to think she will fall back into her routine of crazed love, into the footsteps of her mad father that she nearly followed already. And that fear grew and grew, the more it was buried by a lust for blood and decapitation.

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One day, she snapped. It was inevitable. Her fingers, long and pale, grasped a knife, and out she went, in the middle of the night, while Maria was sound asleep - and in the outskirts of the town, where deadly wolves and forest animals dwelled, there, the sole of her boot sunk into the belly of some unfortunate animal, blade stabbing and slashing. Long after it was clearly dead, still, she kept plunging her knife into it, until she was sure that there was less of a living creature and just pooling holes of blood.

By the end, she was breathless and exhausted - but more than anything, she felt alive, thoughts racing, incoherent. It was a beautiful moment she would always keep in mind, like a vivid projection of a dream.

Aya turned around, steps stumbling and close to deranged, finally understanding to go home before her brunette guardian and the rest of the villagers were awake. The blood of the knife had barely trailed after, already a dried, crusty red covering on the blade. And perhaps that would have been fine, alright to wash off, if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't that sensible regardless, and left the still-bloodied knife in the sink and went back to bed, some scarlet spots still on her own dress.

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Maria was shaken, as guessed. Uneasy and obviously expressing a wish that she throw away this madness before she went to Hell for her sins. But it was so, so easy to convince her otherwise - all it took was an enthusiastic, rambling explaination. Words that conveyed desire and love that was so much like how her father probably was on the subject of gruesome deaths and experimentation. The girl knew that her brunette still loved her father enough to give loyalty to anyone who could replicate and be the closest thing to him again.

Such thoughts were likely to be reinforced by her own love, as well. Aya loved her, desired her safety, unlike her father who saw her as nothing more than a tool who would be thrown aside once proven useless. With these conditions, the situation was perfect, and she began to plan how to further continue with her most-loved obsession -_ forever_.

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_Lets build a clinic, far away from here, in a forest. Let people come, hearing that our treatment is free and safe - nothing at all a lie._

_Let me take them apart, to become the most perfect, lovely specimens that mankind will have ever seen..._

.

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And somewhere deep inside her, she despaired - cried for the passing injured, wounds still in their hearts to be carried on into death.


End file.
